


You Are Dead, My Life, and I Still Breathe

by wmblake



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Ironstrange if you squint, M/M, Whump, Whumptober, copious use of italics, idk i'm apparently on a whump kick rn, no happy ending, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-20 22:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21064496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wmblake/pseuds/wmblake
Summary: Peter Parker knows the stories. Some better than others. Orpheus and Eurydice come to mind. But he'll be better than them, do better—he'll bring Harley back, he swears.He has to.





	You Are Dead, My Life, and I Still Breathe

People have told this story before. One of falling in love, losing the love, seeking to regain it—almost succeeding—and then failing with no hope for redemption.

Peter swallowed down a choke around the knot in his throat. He knew this story. His eyes stung, fixed on the ground. Sharp stones dug into his knees as he knelt. “Please,” he repeated. _“Please.”_

Hel regarded him, a bright, curious eye paired with an empty socket. “Of what do you believe me capable?”

_“Give him back to me. Please. I don’t care what you ask for, I don’t care about the cost, I just—I need him back, please. Name your price, take anything you want, I don’t_ care, _please, he’s—he’s everything to me._

_“Let him go, bring him back, whatever it is that gets him out and alive again, just—please,” Peter begged, feet sore and chest aching. “I—I came all this way, I—your father told me about you, I—I had to try, I had to—” His breath caught. His shoulders shook as he forced himself to inhale. “I can’t live without him. Please.”_

“How did you come to think of this?”

_“Loki, I—I’ve heard stories, read them, searched—searched everywhere. Orpheus and Eurydice, Izanagi and Izanami—look, okay, I get it, maybe they’re just stories, but—but_ you _used to just be a story, too, so—please. Your daughter rules Helheim. You could—at least tell me how to get to her, so that I can ask—”_

_Loki watched Peter’s face, impassive in the face of desperation, eyes just barely narrowed as he thought. “I won’t be able to help you beyond getting you there,” he said. _

_“I just need the chance.” _

_“And if you fail?” _

_Peter gritted his teeth, steeled his spine. “I won’t.” _

_“… you can’t,” Loki corrected, hushed. “You’ve tried everything else, haven’t you?” He watched Peter’s brow furrow, his lip quiver, his breath shake—waited a moment—_

_“No one would help. I—I couldn’t tell Mr. Stark, because he’d grieve all over again—and blame himself—if—if—but no one else would help.” Peter sneered. Loki shifted a step back, unsettled by the look on his face. “Kamar-Taj seems to only like the kind of desperation it can use.” _

_“… my daughter does rule Helheim. Swaying her favor is in your hands; I can’t meddle. But I can bring you to her.” _

_“It’ll be enough.” _

_“… they all fail. In the stories.” _

_“… I know,” Peter whispered. “I know.”_

“Most try other methods before visiting me. Tell me of your adventures.”

_“Peter,_ stop!” _Stephen shouted. Peter jumped, yelped, scrambled to keep a hold on the Time Stone—Stephen flicked his hands and wrenched it from Peter’s. “What did you—what are you—”_

_“I’m sorry, Doctor Strange, but—I need him back, he_ has _to come back, I can’t just—what if he thinks I’ve left him there, what if he’s alone, what if he’s scared, I can’t—I can’t—”_

_“... you can’t use the stone to bring him back, Peter. He—I—I’m sorry, I wish—but even I don’t know what would happen if you tried to bring him back. He—he’s already buried, Peter. There isn’t—there’s nothing we can do anymore.” Stephen reached out, to put a hand on Peter’s shoulder, but he flinched away. Stephen frowned. “I wish there was something we could do. I’m sorry that there isn’t, but—”_

_“Of course,” Peter snapped. “The proper order of the universe doesn’t matter when it’s standing in_ your _way, but as soon as it’s standing in_ mine, _keeping me from—when it’s keeping him dead and—and—” His voice cracked. “But you don’t care, huh?” he bit, words thick and wet and choked. “Anything to protect your precious stone.” _

_“Peter—”_

_“Stop talking down to me! If you cared—if you_ actually _cared, you wouldn’t stop me.” _

_“… some things can’t be reversed, Peter.” _

_“Only because you won’t let me! You—”_

_“Peter—”_

_“No! First, you and Wong won’t—won’t let me read the books that_ say _how to bring him back, how I could—how—and you won’t teach me yourself, or let me learn, or do it on my own—I’m not—he’s_ got _to come back, Doctor Strange, it’s not—it’s not fair, he deserves to be here, to—he’s a_ hero, _how can you just stand by and—”_

_“Do you think you’re the only one who misses him? Who loved him? Who’s affected by his death?” _

_“You hardly knew him.” _

_“If I didn’t tell Anthony of any way to bring him back, do you think there’s any way worth it that could? Don’t you think I would have done it, if only to dispel his pain?” _

_“There is a way to bring him back,” Peter spat. _

_Stephen shook his head. “No way that would bring happiness. You—I don’t want you to go through any more misery.” _

_“He’s_ gone. _How could I be anything but miserable?”_

“Do you know what it is to meddle with the fates of the dead?”

_Peter held the book like the last relic from the gods, one last hope—one last chance for redemption. Hands shaking with a delicacy that comes only from desperation, he turned the page, devouring its words like a starved man, like—_

_“Peter.” _

_Before he could blink, Wong had taken the book from his hands. Its non-distinct leather cover disappeared into the stacks of books at Wong’s desk, waiting to be organized and re-shelved. _

_“You must not read such things. You can’t occupy all your time thinking of the dead.” _

_Peter stared at him. “What—what else_ can _I do? Harley—”_

_“I know.” _

_“Do you?” Peter choked a harsh laugh. “Or do you just think you know everything, so enlightened by this—temple—that doesn’t do anything for anyone outside of it?” _

_Wong frowned. “We protect the world from magical threats. That book you were reading is dangerous, Peter. No one wants to see you hurt.” _

_“Funny. No one’s helping me_ stop _hurting. In fact, you’re all making it worse.” _

_“Magic can’t solve your pain.” _

_“Yes, it can! That’s the whole point of—”_

_“Necromancy is not something to be trifled with. You can’t read one book and expect to bring him back with the wave of your hand.” _

_“You and Stephen could.” _

_“No.” _

_“You could. But you won’t.” _

_“Peter—”_

_“Yeah, right, natural law, what’s dead has to stay dead, yeah, yeah,_ whatever! _That obviously wasn’t the case when Stephen stuck himself in a time loop to die over and over again. But, sure, give him a get out of jail free card and leave Harley to_ rot.”

Peter screwed his eyes shut until dizziness accompanied the moving colors and darkness behind his eyelids. “Will you help me?”

“Oh, little one.” Hel sighed. “What cure is there for death?”

_“No, no, no,” Peter chanted, pressing his hands to Harley’s side. “No, please, don’t, no, not now, please, please—”_

_Harley coughed, weak, blood spitting onto his lips. Peter covered the gashes in webbing like gauze, watched as the white stained red, dark and angry, like some wine-drunk war god. “ … Pete …”_

_“Shh, no, you’re all right, you’re going to be all right, just—save your strength, don’t move, you’ll be just fine—” Peter’s breathing burst in small, sharp gasps. “You’ll be okay, okay? You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” _

_“Peter,” Harley tried again. _

_“You’re all right, you’ll be all right, everything’s fine,” he repeated. “Please. You’ll be all right.” _

_“… love you,” Harley mumbled. _

_Peter froze. His hands trembled. _

_He clenched them into fists. “I love you too, sweetheart, I love you too. Now, be quiet, okay? Save your strength, please. Help’s on the way. Someone’ll be here soon. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. You’ll—”_

_Harley went slack._

_The pounding of his own heart in his ears couldn’t drown out the silence of the one in Harley’s chest, of his lungs, of the way he’d lick his lips and smile at Peter like he was the only thing in the universe, of—_

_Peter clung to Harley. “Please,” he begged. “Please. Don’t—don’t do this to me. Please. Come back to me.”_


End file.
